Truly Madly Deeply
by FatesMistake
Summary: In the summer before Seventh Year, Harry inexplicably begins fantasizing about Snape coming onto him. He has no idea where these thoughts, these imaginings that seem so real, are coming from, but as the year advances and he buries himself in the ancient, respected art of Alchemy, he starts to wonder if he really minds these vivid daydreams. SSHP
1. Chapter 1

Harry was sitting in the park near 4 Privet Drive. He couldn't believe Dumbledore had done this to him. Voldemort was dead, but he was still trapped at his relatives' until his birthday. Dumbledore had claimed that the blood protection was still necessary, thanks to the Death Eaters wandering around and their connection to the Dark Lord. Worse yet, he was trapped with Snape of all people. As far as the neighbors were concerned, Snape was a distant cousin. Merlin only knew what had been said (or, in Harry's better dreams, what had been done) to Vernon and Petunia Dursley that they would allow not one, but two full grown wizards to reside in their home. Harry had been amazed to find that, when the man's hair was clean and he was forced to get real sun in Aunt Petunia's garden, Snape actually didn't look half bad. He certainly looked handsome enough that Aunt Petunia, Pet to Snape, didn't seem to really mind having him around, in opposition of her whale of a husband. Harry thought he might vomit if he saw his aunt swoon over his least-liked professor again.

As if summoned by the devil himself, Snape appeared at the gate of the park and walked immediately over to the Wizarding Savior. Harry sighed with resignation and leaned further against the bent telephone pole he was sat in front of. The wood creaked alarmingly, but it was still safer than the broken swing set a few feet away. The park should've been torn down ages ago. It was amazing the perfect little neighborhood in which it sat hadn't done something about it already. Snape's long stride carried him over to Harry and he sat in the yellow grass, his back to the side of his student's knee, close enough he was almost leaning against him. Snape stared over the broken down park equipment while Harry stared at his knees. He refused to be the first to speak.

"Your friends claim that you've stopped replying to their letters."

Harry didn't answer. He hadn't explained himself to his friends, he sure as hell wasn't going to explain himself to the enemy. Snape continued.

"Your friends seem to be under the impression that I have done something to facilitate your lack of reply," The Potions Master said querulously.

"A reasonable assumption, even if it is wrong," Harry said at last.

Snape scowled. Harry had discovered early on that Snape, while doing nothing to correct it, hated being reminded of his scornful ways. Harry delighted in doing precisely that, as Snape seemed to be under orders not to fight with him, and it was at least a momentary cure for boredom to press the man's buttons until he went away. Harry didn't have it in him do so now, buried under the weight of self-pity as he was.

"Why have you stopped replying to your friends?" Snape asked.

Harry scowled and bit his tongue.

"Potter…"

There was a hint of warning in Snape's tone, but still Harry maintained his silence.

"Potter…" It was the growl Harry had heard a dozen times. It meant Snape was about to lose his patience, and it snapped Harry's.

"Because it isn't fair!" The Boy Who Lived shouted, pounding his fists into the ground as he glared at his professor. "All they do is tell me how great their summers are going, and I'm stuck here with the four people who hate me most in the world. And I don't even have my birthday to look forward to, because after that I'm going to be stuck in a safe house, Merlin-knows-where, with you!"

Snape moved with the fluidity of a snake, pressing towards Harry before the younger wizard could move. His fingers and thumb lightly touched Harry's golden cheek and chin, almost caressing him as Snape's face moved so close that Harry could count the specks of grey in the onyx gaze. Harry's breath hitched, and he felt himself swoon. What was Snape doing to him? In that moment, all Harry wanted was for the man to finish closing the distance as black eyes stared at his mouth.

"Life isn't fair, Mister Potter," Snape murmured, still watching Harry's lips.

Harry tried to nod but found he'd lost all control of his body. He was numb, and yet he could feel his blood racing in his veins with a fervor he had never before felt. What was this? His tongue flicked out of its own accord to wet his lips, and the very edge caught Snape's thin lower lip as well. His breath quickened. Snape hissed noisily through clenched teeth, pressing forward again, but just as their lips were about to meet, he was gone. Harry blinked, realizing his eyes had closed in preparation for what almost happened, and he saw that the park was empty except for him and the busted playground equipment. What the hell?

Harry slumped against the bent telephone pole, trying and failing to get his breath under control. He was…so damn confused. Had Snape even been here at all? He had to have been, except…where had he gone if he had? There had been no crack of apparition, and no one was that fast or light on their feet. Harry rolled forward on a spine that felt like jelly and placed his head against his knees. He had to be going mad if he was imagining Snape trying to kiss him.

-Break-

That evening, as the sun was setting in the west, Harry walked into his over-crowded bedroom at 4 Privet Drive. Snape's first act, upon announcing that he would be passing the summer here, had been to conjure a second bed in Harry's room. His second act had been to force Harry to do his summer homework, occasionally lending an unexpected hand when Harry got stuck. Harry frowned when he saw Snape sitting in the bed he'd conjured, reading a book as he leaned nonchalantly against the wall. Choosing to ignore the spiteful man, Harry went immediately to the desk that sat between his bed and Snape's. He sat down and pulled out his spare parchment, quill, and ink from the topmost drawer. As he fought with the broken drawer, trying to get it back on its roller so it would reseat in the desk, Snape spoke.

"What are you doing, Potter?"

Harry sighed, still fighting with the drawer. "I'm writing a letter to my friends, if you must know."

Snape smirked as Harry finally slammed the drawer shut. Harry glowered at that smirk. Was it a knowing smirk? Was it triumphant? Damn the man and the complexity of his facial expressions. Harry, choosing again to simply ignore the Potions Master, turned to his letter. The good thing about Snape being around was that, as long as they didn't cast at the same time, he could technically do magic. This, as much as having a fully grown wizard around, a former Death Eater no less, had been sufficient for scaring his relatives into something akin to kindness. They weren't actually nice, but they were accommodating. Harry wasn't forced to cook as often, he only had a reasonable number of chores, and he was fed on a regular basis. Vernon had even stopped hitting him, at least when Snape was around. And the man almost always seemed to be around. Only Dudley was stupid enough to abuse him with Snape around, and Snape had called that character building and told him to simply fight back, the prick. It was also the first time he'd gotten all of his summer homework finished, and the man had been surprisingly useful…in that he scathingly gave Harry hints about where to find the answers he needed. Now that Harry thought about it, he had had worse summers. It wasn't the grand ole time he'd have been having at the Burrow, but it wasn't all that bad, either.

Harry suddenly felt a little guilty about his earlier self-pity. Maybe that had been the point of his strange, far-too-realistic daydream. Snape had actually made his summer bearable thus far. It didn't change the way Harry felt, towards the Potions Master or his relatives, but it did make him slightly appreciate the man's presence. He still would have preferred someone he actually liked either staying or checking in on him regularly, but at least Snape wasn't being the massive git he usually was at school.

A knock on the door interrupted Harry's thoughts as his letter was drawing to a close. He turned to see his aunt staring with adoration at his vaguely attractive professor. He rolled his eyes and turned back to his letter.

"Dinner is ready, Severus. Boy, you might as well come down, too," Petunia said.

Harry glanced at Snape to see him giving his aunt a charming smile that he had to know made him more attractive. The man closed his book and stood from his bed in a single, graceful move. Harry faked a gag as Snape continued to smile at his aunt.

"Thank you, Pet. I will be down momentarily."

Harry heard his aunt sigh pathetically before her footsteps were clicking down the runner in the hall. Snape's footsteps followed her to the door. Harry turned back to his letter, knowing it didn't matter if he came down immediately or not, since his aunt had made it clear that, while he would be allowed to eat regularly, he was to be confined to the kitchen, like the servants of old, while the rest of the family and their guest ate in the dining room. Harry had, at the time, fought not to point out that Snape was technically his guest, and had only won by reminding himself that it was good he was getting to eat at all. He sucked on the end of his quill as he considered how to end his apologetic letter.

I'm glad you guys are having a good summer, even if I'm not there to enjoy it with you. Like I said, things could be worse, but I still miss you guys in the worst way. Hoping to see you in a week for my birthday!

Love

Harry

The Gryffindor had just finished his letter, signing his name with a flourish Hermione had spent hours teaching him, when he felt a presence at his back. He stiffened, thinking it was Dudley come to get his daily beating in before supper. His slightly broken chair groaned as someone leaned over the back of it, leaning over his shoulder. Harry's mouth opened to tell his brutal cousin to bugger off, but the words caught in his throat. Instead, he froze as breath ghosted over his neck and his shoulder, exposed by Dudley's too-large hand-me-down shirt. It wasn't his cousin. A shiver crawled slowly up his spine as someone sniffed delicately over his exposed flesh. For the second time that day, he felt his blood pulsing in his veins like fire, and his breath coming in shallow, needy gasps.

"I don't hate you," Snape murmured, his lips grazing the curve of Harry's ear ever so gently.

Harry's eyes slid shut as that sinful sigh trailed over his neck and shoulder again. And then it was gone. With a gasp, Harry turned so sharply that he almost toppled his chair. Snape was gone, and again Harry had to question his sanity. Again, he wondered if Snape had really been there, and how he kept vanishing so quickly if he had been. Forgetting his letter, Harry shot out of his chair and across the room. He stumbled into the hall and stormed down the stairs. When he reached the dining room, it was to see Snape and all three of his relatives sitting innocently at the table.

"Hungry, Potter?" Snape asked, smirking.

Harry scowled.

"In the kitchen with you, boy," Vernon growled, gesturing to the doorway with his thumb.

Harry continued to scowl as he forced himself not to stomp like a child, and instead walked calmly to the kitchen. He was definitely going insane. But at least this summer it was a well-fed insanity. Harry sat at the kitchen table in front of the decent portion of food his aunt had dished out for him.


	2. Chapter 2

The death of the greatest threat the Wizarding World had seen in centuries was, of course, cause for celebration. Harry was amazed to discover, when Snape apparated them to Grimmauld, that this cause for celebration was also apparently cause for the giving spirit. A pile of presents, that seemed to test the limits of the table on which they'd been set, awaited him in the library. Even more amazing was that the gifts from his friends and the Order were set apart. It seemed the entire Wizarding World wished to celebrate their Savior's ascent into adulthood.

As a result, Harry spent the majority of his birthday party picking at the homemade cake Mrs. Weasley had made and sorting through his gifts with his friends. Most he gave away to those in attendance, although several he kept for himself. There was something for everyone within the pile, and Harry laughingly called them party favors as he passed around the gifts for the Order members to pick through. Remus, who was staying at Grimmauld, put away whatever was left, with a promise to sell them and put the money in Harry's account for him, save the heirlooms, which would be returned to the sender.

After the party had ended, and the Order had vanished to their homes, or the missions they had put on hold for the blessed occasion, Harry took to cleaning the kitchen in an attempt to postpone his own departure. Dumbledore, who had remained to see Harry and Snape off to their super-secret safe house, joined him there once everyone had gone. Harry immediately began trying to convince the aging Headmaster that he should stay at Grimmauld, rather than leave for Merlin-knew-where.

"I could stay here with Remus," Harry claimed, scrubbing distractedly at the stained kitchen table. "Snape could stay, too, if he had to."

"Professor Snape, Harry."

"Yeah, okay, Professor Snape could stay," Harry corrected. "I am an adult now, after all. I'm perfectly capable of defending myself, now that I can do magic freely. And it is my house."

"I'm afraid I simply can't allow that, m'boy," Albus answered gently. "Remus presents too much of a danger, thanks to his disease, and the Order is still using this as our Headquarters. You would have members coming and going at all hours, with no guarantee that they aren't being tracked here by the very Death Eaters they are hunting down. Your safety is too precious to me to risk it by allowing you to stay here. Unless, of course, you wish to withdraw your offer to allow us to continue using your home as a base?"

"N-no," Harry stammered. "Of course not, but-"

"Very good," The Headmaster said, cutting off Harry's further attempts to convince him. "Then I shall see you in an hour or so, to give you and Severus the Portkey that will take you to your summer home. For now, I will go and admire that lovely tea cozy you gifted me. Please make sure you are packed before your departure."

"I am, but…" Harry trailed off as Dumbledore walked out of the kitchen, oblivious to his arguments. He turned back to the kitchen table, scrubbing at the wood grain with the cloth in his hand. "Damn that man," He muttered darkly. "Why does he get to control my life? I barely know him, and yet I let him have a say in everything I do!"

Harry stilled as he felt hands on his hips, a taller form a whisper against his back. His breathing became shallow. He hadn't experienced Snape in such an intimate way since the man had told him he didn't hate him. And he still couldn't tell if he wasn't simply imagining these private moments. Magic had a tendency to blur the line between reality and imagination. He gasped as thin lips pressed tenderly to the bundle of nerves below his ear.

"He is easy to trust," Snape's voice rumbled softly. "And he is a master of manipulation. He could easily convince a starving man to give him his last piece of bread."

Harry scoffed, trying to ignore what the man's proximity was doing to him. "No kidding," He answered. "I'm just sick and tired of this. I should be allowed to live my life how I want. It isn't fair."

Snape chuckled darkly, sending a shiver down Harry's spine. His long fingers squeezed Harry's hips, and the Boy Who Lived felt his knees weaken. "I believe we have covered this particular truth, Mister Potter, that life isn't fair."

Harry frowned. "Well, maybe it should be."

"Maybe what should be what, Harry?"

Harry started, whipping around to see Remus coming through the doorway into the kitchen, a book open in his hands. Harry blushed. "Wasn't…where did…did someone pass you coming down?"

Remus shook his head. "No, I believe everyone has already left. Except Severus, but I just saw him in the library a few minutes ago. Are you alright?"

Harry sighed and shrugged as he turned back to scrubbing the kitchen table. "I really don't know," He muttered.


	3. Chapter 3

The safe house turned out to be amazing. It wasn't the Burrow, and Harry was still sore about not getting to stay with, or even see, his friends, but he still had their letters to look forward to. And the safe house couldn't be more beautiful. It was a small, two-story Victorian, with a crowded attic, set in a glen. Immediately around it was a field of wildflowers and long, luscious grass; around that, in every direction, was a wood that seemed to go on forever. They had several modern Muggle amenities, including a fully-stocked kitchen; and Dobby had come along so there wasn't much cleaning to do unless you really looked for it.

Harry discovered, after pouting for the first few days, that, given access to his friends, he wouldn't mind living here forever. Even Snape wasn't much of a bother, since he was usually sitting in a corner, reading one of the many books that lined the shelves in the common area. Harry much preferred to spend his days outside, working in the small garden or laying in the grass and feeling the warm Welsh sun on his skin (Snape had determined they were in Wales almost as soon as they arrived). He had already gone from a gentle golden tan to a deep bronze after just two weeks at the house.

Harry was lying bare chested in the tall grass, soaking up the sun's rays, when Snape found him. He cracked open an eye as the man's shadow fell over him, and then shut his eyes again as the man settled in the grass beside him. He felt too good to pay the man any mind. For the longest minute, Snape remained beside him, silent as the grave. And then Harry started as gentle fingers began to dance over his sternum. He kept his eyes shut, doing his best to continue ignoring the confounding Potions Master. A shiver raced up his spine as those cold fingers, like ice on his burning skin, traced patterns in the glistening sweat on his chest and abs. His heart beat rapidly in his ribcage as those gentle fingers trailed lower, catching at the lip of his jeans. His hands clenched together under his head as his body stiffened, his mouth suddenly remarkably dry.

"Potter!"

Harry started, sitting up sharply, and looked over to see Snape standing in the doorway of the safe house, unfathomably far away. He sucked in a sharp breath as a suddenly cool wind blew against his feverish skin. A look around showed dark clouds had overtaken the sky, and the wind was whipping through the field and far-off forest. A storm had appeared, so suddenly that Harry wondered if he hadn't fallen asleep. He turned back to Snape.

"Potter, get inside!" The man shouted over the whistling wind.

Harry stood up and raced towards the house as rain began to pelt the ground behind him. He was only a few feet away when the wind and drenching rain caught up to him, soaking him from head to toe before he could get under the relative safety of the wrap-around porch. He climbed the steps onto the porch and stood sheepishly before his professor. Snape scowled and stepped out of the doorway to allow him entry. Harry walked in and paused on the hardwood floors.

"Get a shower, Potter, before you catch your death."

Harry looked at the man as if he had two heads. Since when did Snape care if he got sick? Shrugging off the man's confusing behavior, he trudged through the house to the staircase that would take him to his bedroom and a hot bath. Maybe the man just didn't want to be responsible for nursing him back to health, since there wasn't exactly an apothecary, or even a potions lab, anywhere nearby. Still, strange or not, Snape was right. Harry had never gotten sick before, and he wasn't about to break that trend now.

-Break-

The rain didn't stop for a week. The storm weakened from a torrential downpour to a healthy rainfall, but what was good for the earth was not good for Harry's sanity. He hated being cooped up in the house. Snape, at least, seemed to sense his growing tension and left him alone. With nothing else to do, Harry spent most of his time in the safe house's attic. The musty, humid room was a wealth of ancient treasure, and Harry was able to distract himself for hours, picking through faded pictures, old clothes, and moldy cardboard cartons filled with wooden toys and old books.

It was in the attic that Harry found something that could truly occupy what remained of his summer. Hidden in a secret compartment in an old, dusty desk, and buried under personal mementos that were once bright treasures, he discovered a book of spells. Its title proclaimed it to be 'A Beginner's Guide to Alchemy', and the contents did not disappoint. Without the means to practice the spells, Harry could only study and memorize the basics of the theory. And he did. With a fervor he didn't pay to his regular studies, Harry consumed the book's knowledge like a sponge absorbing water. He was surprised to find himself fascinated by the concept of combining Muggle science with magic to achieve a result neither could produce on its own.

Harry was lying on a pallet of blankets in the attic, studying his special find, when he paused to remove his shirt in the sweltering, humid heat. A glance at his watch told him he had missed lunch for the third day in a row, and he made a mental note to call Dobby for food…just as soon as he finished this chapter. He tossed his shirt aside and lay back down on his stomach, propped up on his elbows as he read his new book in the dim light. It was beyond fascinating, to see what science and magic could do combined, and Harry was sorely disappointed that he had no means of practicing the techniques. For one thing, he knew very little about Runes; for another he had no means of brewing, save his school kit, and that was insufficient for the purpose.

Harry stiffened as he felt light fingers trail like feathers up his spine. He flipped over, startled, and stared with wide eyes at the smirking apparition before him. Snape was knelt on the floor beside him, but before he could utter a sound, a slim digit pressed against his lips to silence him. Snape continued to smirk, holding Harry's startled gaze, as his finger played over Harry's pouty lips, before his hand slid to the back of Harry's head. Harry found himself going willingly as the Potions Master leant down while pulling him forward. His eyes slid shut as he gave in to the strange desire to kiss and be kissed, and Harry lifted a hand to card through glossy raven hair.

Suddenly, Harry had the distinct sensation of being alone. He opened his eyes to discover this was entirely true, his hand reaching for empty air. Disappointed, and slightly nauseous at the trail of his imagination, Harry scoffed at himself and turned back to his book with a sound harrumph. He was beyond done with these feelings, these daydreams (he had long since determined that Snape could not possibly be two places at once, or disappear so quickly), that differed so greatly from the venom he typically felt for the Potions Master. He knew he must be losing his mind, slowly but surely, but had no means of defense. How did you defend from your own wayward thoughts? And he could ask for help from no one, as any who might help would think him a laughingstock for daydreaming about the Greasy Git of Hogwarts' dungeons.

The frustrated Gryffindor turned his attention back to his book, but remained tense for some time.


	4. Chapter 4

Drip

Drip

Drip

Harry growled with anger and irritation at the nuisance sound of the dripping. The sound was new in his attic hideaway, and it was driving him to distraction as he tried and failed to finish his new-old book on Alchemy. The rain had stopped for a few days, long enough to let the ground dry where the sun could reach, but had resumed the day before as if it had never gone. And now there was a drip, and a puddle for the drip to resound in.

Fed up, Harry leapt to his feet and began to search the attic for the leak, shifting boxes and things out of his way as he checked the pipes he could see. None of them seemed to be in the slightest state of disrepair, and he turned his eyes skyward with a groan. Their perfect little house had a leak in the roof. Harry sighed and began looking for the pool of water, being slightly more careful of the cartons that he shifted. If the leak had caused a puddle, it might have rotted the dingy floor of the attic. A leak was hard enough to repair (though he could do so admirably), a hole in the floor, or ceiling as you saw it, was much more difficult. He'd taught himself basic household repairs in service to the Dursley's, but had never had need to repair a full-blown hole, and doubted the information he needed was readily available around the house.

After nearly a half an hour, Harry found the shimmering, shallow pool of water he was looking for. It was no bigger than his fist, thank Merlin, and didn't seem to have had the time to rot the floor; just made it a little spongy. Tracing the water up the roof joist it was dripping from, Harry found the leak was a small-ish hole in the roof, where the wood plank had rotted slightly around a natural knot, just big enough to let in a near-steady stream of water droplets from the pouring rain outside. Knowing it would fall to him to repair it the Muggle way, as he didn't know the spells and doubted Snape did, Harry looked mournfully at his abandoned book before traipsing downstairs. He found Snape in the living room, reading a book as he only ever seemed to do, and ignored the man as he went to the fireplace.

"The floo is meant for emergencies only, Potter," Snape said as Harry started a fire in the grate. "Not because you are bored."

Harry rolled his eyes as the fire began warming the room. He didn't understand how the Potions Master could withstand the cold entirely unbothered. "I'm not bored. I've been studying alchemical theory, for your information. And I know the floo is for emergencies. There's a leak in the roof. Obviously, one of us will have to fix it."

"And you're taking this responsibility upon your own shoulders?" Snape asked with a scoff.

Harry glowered over his shoulder. "I am the one who knows how, unless you're hiding some amazing talent for household repairs, Muggle or magical, under that greasy mop you call hair."

Snape snarled, and sniffed, insulted, returning his attention to his book. Harry smirked. It was really a very nice feeling, to be able to win these little arguments with the snarky git, away from the school and the consequences therein. He knew he'd probably pay for every little jab once they did return to Hogwarts, but Harry was really an instant gratification sort of person, consequences be damned.

Getting onto his hands and knees, Harry threw a small handful of their emergency floo powder into the fire. He stuck his head in and spoke the password Dumbledore had given him and Snape when he'd sent them on their merry way. After the dizzying, disorienting feeling of his head spinning without his body, Harry opened his eyes to find he'd somewhat arrived in the grate of a room that was overflowing with odds, ends, and, of course, books. Harry supposed this must be Dumbledore's summer home, and this idea made the helter-skelter array of strange artifacts slightly less surprising. Just look at the man's office at the school.

"Professor Dumbledore!" Harry called into the empty room.

There was a small thump from somewhere in the house, and Harry waited only a moment before a door at the far end of the room opened. He was only a little disappointed that he saw nothing more than a hallway beyond the Headmaster's legs. As if he were still young and spry, Dumbledore moved to the fireplace and sat cross-legged before it on the floor, wearing a decidedly outrageous purple wizarding robe with twinkling stars stitched into the fabric.

"Professor-"

"Harry," Dumbledore interrupted. "If you've called to complain about spending so much time with your housemate, I must remind you that it is for your own good."

Harry scowled. "Honestly, why does everyone seem to think I can't handle things on my own, or can't define 'emergency'?" He groused. "I'm calling because there's a leak in the roof of the safe house."

Dumbledore looked nothing short of shocked. "I apologize for jumping to conclusions," The man said. "However, I am afraid I don't know how to help with a leak. It's safest that no one else know your location, and I don't believe I have any books or spells that might help."

Harry shook his head. "I don't need spells, Headmaster. I need materials. I can repair the roof myself. I've repaired my relative's roof twice since I was 8. Once when Dudley set off a firecracker in the attic, and again when Vernon was trying to install the telly antenna himself. If you can get me the materials, I can repair the leak on my own."

"Oh, outstanding," Dumbledore said brightly. "If you'll copy the materials you need onto the two-way grocery list in the kitchen, I can have the materials to you by tomorrow. I look forward to the trip into the Muggle hardware store near my home. I've always wanted to go in there, but have never had a reason before now."

Harry smiled. "I'll have the list over in a bit. I just need to climb up on the roof to see the extent of the damage. It may be necessary to do more than a simple patch, I may have to replace that whole section of roof."

"Of course, of course," Dumbledore said, grinning. "Whatever you think is best, Harry, m'boy. I eagerly await your missive."

"Thank you, Headmaster," Harry said.

Dumbledore winked. "I think I should be thanking you, Harry, for being so helpful."

Harry smiled uncomfortably, wished the Headmaster well, and pulled himself from the fireplace without waiting for a reply. It always made him uncomfortable to receive praise or thanks from adults, after so many years of only being told he'd done wrong, even when he'd done right. Never mind that he was technically an adult now, himself, it was still disconcerting. Shaking free of these tumultuous thoughts, Harry went to the front door and donned his jacket from the hook on the back. As he shrugged into his coat, Snape spoke without looking up from his book.

"If you break your neck climbing on the roof in the rain, I won't come running."

Harry rolled his eyes. "If only I would," He muttered.

Snape still didn't look up, but Harry watched with satisfaction as the man's face contorted into a scowl. He smirked and left the house, drawing his wand. Luckily, Hermione had taught him a spell just the year before that would allow him to remain dry. It was a more advanced version of the spell she'd used on his glasses in Third Year. Casting the spell now, Harry set out to find the ladder he'd seen stored at the side of the house.

After yanking the large, metal ladder free of the weeds that had grown over it, Harry carried the ladder to the side of the house where his bedroom lay and very carefully raised it up against the house. Another drying spell, this one much simpler, facilitated him climbing to the top of the ladder. He scanned the roof carefully, and saw that his idea for a simple patch would never do. Several shingles had been blown from their roost, and the roof was nearly bare where the leak was, which explained the rotted wood. Sighing in exasperation, Harry made to get down, forgetting to recast his drying spell on the rungs. His foot slipped, and for a heart-stopping moment, Harry was sure Snape had foreseen his end. Dark wizards and giant snakes? No go. Falling from a ladder three stories up? Yup, that'd do it. Harry's hands clenched the ladder tightly, but his slip had unbalanced the top-heavy equipment, and he saw his life flash before his eyes as the ladder began to fall away from the house. Not even his incredible reflexes could stop the fall, as his hand reached for the house and missed.

Just as Harry was assured of his own ironic doom, the ladder fell forward again, against the side of the house, and he looked down to see Snape below him with his wand drawn. Harry was suddenly immensely grateful that the Potions Master was always there for the worst of his troubles. Trembling slightly, Harry cast the drying spell he'd forgotten and quickly clambered down to the solid earth below. He smiled abashedly at the Potions Master, who scowled, soaked from head to toe.

"Foolish boy," The man snarled angrily. He stomped soddenly back around the house, and Harry followed. "What foolishness was in your head, Potter?"

Harry shrugged as they went into the house. "Dunno," He said, shuffling his feet. "I didn't really think I was in any danger until…well, until I was. Thanks, by the way."

Snape glowered at him. "Foolish boy," He scoffed again. He stormed away, up the stairs, and Harry heard the man's bedroom door slam shut.

Frowning, Harry shrugged off the man's apparently violent concern. The Potions Master had always been a conundrum, and likely always would be. Harry wasn't quite ready to start trying to figure out the Potions Master, especially considering he hadn't even figured himself out. Deciding he did need to thank the man, however, Harry went to the kitchen to begin penning the list of materials he needed, and to begin cooking lunch. It was the least he could do.


	5. Chapter 5

Harry shuddered as the cool breeze blew across his sweaty body. A Welsh summer was decidedly cooler than an English one. The sun was just as hot, but the wind carried an air of coolness that the burning light could not extinguish. Harry swiped his arm across his brow as he resumed his repair of the roof. As promised, Dumbledore had been quick to send the materials he needed, Dobby acting as courier; and by some twist of good fate, the rain had stopped the day next. Thus, Harry was atop the house, knelt on the perilous slant of the roof, repairing and replacing shingles as needed. He had already cut away and replaced the rotted wood planks beneath. It was hot work, and it was hard work, but Harry didn't really mind. Except for Snape.

In an uncharacteristic show of concern, Snape had come out of his chair in the living room, and had set up on the sprawling lawn before the house. Harry felt self-conscious, shirtless and sweaty where the man could see him, but at least it meant he wouldn't have a daydream. He never dreamed when Snape was in view, thank Merlin. Harry looked up, as he had every five minutes since Snape had come outside. He expected to find the black eyes turned upward (the man either sensed it every time Harry had looked for him, or was not actually reading the book in his lap). However, there was no one there. The porch chair Snape had pulled out to watch from was now empty.

So distracted was the Gryffindor, Harry forgot to look down as he brought the hammer down on a nail. Or rather, as he missed the nail entirely and smashed his own thumb. Before he could stop it, a shout of pain escaped the Boy Who Lived, and he had a brief moment of fear that his Uncle would be very angry for the sound. Shaking out of the fog, Harry raised his thumb to his mouth and began suckling at it. It pulsed angrily against his tongue, and Harry bit down at the knuckle. It was an old trick he'd taught himself as a child. If he caused new pain where he was hurt, it didn't hurt as bad. Just as it always had, the pain began to subside immediately, and Harry held the injured digit before him. It was clearly swollen and bruised. Most obvious was the growing black mark beneath his nail where the flesh had split and was bleeding beneath the hard enamel. Harry rolled his eyes as the typical numbness set into his thumb. That was going to be fun to explain, especially if the nail died and fell off.

Smacking his own head for good measure, Harry began looking around him, hoping and praying that his hammer hadn't slid off the roof when he'd dropped it. He found it lying against his leg, and picked it up with relief. However, he nearly dropped it again when he looked up to find Snape staring down at him.

"Bloody hell!" Harry cried in surprise. He glowered up at the man. "What the hell, Snape?! You almost gave me a heart attack!"

Snape continued to frown down at him. "I heard you shout."

Harry shook his head. "It's nothing, I just… I missed with the hammer." He held up his thumb. "See? No harm. It just hurt like hell."

Snape bent over the slightest bit to examine the discolored digit. "I would say there is quite a bit of harm. When you come down for lunch, remind me to give you a potion. It will reduce the swelling, and may save your nail."

Harry furrowed his brow. "Er… thanks."

Snape gave a stiff nod and turned to walk back to the ladder. Harry watched in amazement as the man straddled and subsequently descended the ladder in a single smooth motion. What he wouldn't give to be able to move like that. Shaking his head clear for a second time, Harry returned to his task. A single glance over showed that Snape had resumed his place on the lawn, and that the man was still watching him closely. Suddenly feeling the slightest bit less uncomfortable under the dark-eyed scrutiny, Harry began hammering away again, much less distracted than he had been before.

-Break-

The following day, Harry was back in the attic. The rain seemed to have come to a more or less permanent pause, though the skies still threatened, but he was not here to escape the rain. Rather, as Dumbledore had gone slightly barmy with the repair supplies, he had enough material (and now a large book of instructions on most household repairs) that he'd decided to repair the attic floor where the water had pooled. He was grateful that he didn't need to repair his bedroom ceiling, since the leak didn't seem to have reached it, as that would have required asking the Potions Master for help. Instead, he was up in the hot and humid attic sawing through and replacing the solid wood floor.

The Gryffindor was nearly done with his task, and was in the midst of sweeping up the sawdust and bent nails, when he realized he had let his guard down. Pale hands gripped his hips forcefully, and drew him back against a solid body. He gasped lightly, frozen, as those hands began to move and a crooked nose sighed over his shoulder where his ten-sizes-too-big tee had slipped to expose so much flesh. Long fingers trailed under his shirt, over the skin of his abs and sternum. The broom fell from his hands, and his body began to thaw, but rather than pull away, Harry found he rather enjoyed the exploration as a long nose nuzzled the place where his shoulder and neck met. One hand trailed up to his throat, where long fingers gently caressed, and the other began to trail further down. This second searching hand touched his thigh, massaged it and scratched at the rough material of his jeans. Suddenly, Harry found himself being swung around roughly. Black eyes bored into him as he stared back in surprise, and those devilish hands gripped the sides of his head as if to draw him forward. Without wanting to, but with no way to stop it, Harry felt his eyes slip closed as hot breath ghosted over his parted lips.

"Potter!"

Harry started, his eyes flying open, and he looked to the stairwell, where Snape was just ascending the last step, his back to him. Harry couldn't stop his blush, much as he couldn't stop his eyes closing moments before. He really wished he could understand these damned daydreams. It was harrowing, to go from hating the man to being licentiously attracted to him in moments, and then back again every time the daydream ended before some culmination. He hadn't decided yet if this was more or less frustrating than having daydreams about the man to begin with.

"Potter, you have a letter," Snape said darkly, still standing near the stairwell. He held out the aforementioned missive. "The bird who delivered it was rather insistent, and would not allow me to put it down."

Harry looked where black eyes glanced, and realized there was an owl, an unfamiliar one, perched atop the banister beside Snape. Frowning, Harry moved forward and took the letter from the Potions Master. It was addressed to him, but bore no other mark. Harry hesitantly slit it open with the dirty thumbnail Snape had managed to preserve, and pulled the letter from the thick envelope. His eyes widened upon realizing it was a wedding invitation, and trailed down the parchment only to close in exasperation when he took in who was to be wedded.

"Dobby!" He growled loudly.

The elf appeared beside him. "Yes, Master Harry?"

"You're supposed to stop all my fanmail," He accused. "This managed to slip by you?"

Dobby bowed his head. "I's sorry, Master Harry. The bird must have been cloaked. I will dispose of it immediately."

Harry sighed and held out the letter. "Thank you, and I apologize for being cross. I am so tired of these idiot witches-"

Snape snatched the letter from Harry's hand and began to read aloud. "You are cordially invited to attend the betrothal and subsequent marriage of I, Matilda Marzepan, and my dearly beloved Harry Potter, this evening at 7 'o' clock in the Derbyshire Town Hall." Black eyes flickered up to meet Harry's scowling green, and a smirk split across the stern features. "I suppose congratulations are in order, Mister Potter. I didn't realize you were engaged."

Harry scowled and took the letter back irritably. "It's not funny, Snape, it's creepy. This woman seems to have gone entirely off the deep end, and she has magic powerful enough to mask her owl from Dobby."

Snape's smirk slipped slightly. "I will admit that that is a slightly disconcerting combination."

"No kidding," Harry growled. He shoved the letter into Dobby's hands and turned back to the corner of the attic he'd been working in. "Please dispose of that lunacy properly, Dobby."

"Yes, Master Harry Potter," Dobby replied gleefully.

Harry heard the 'pop' of the elf disappearing, and picked up his broom to resume cleaning. He jumped nearly out of his skin when Snape spoke so very close behind him.

"All your fanmail, Potter?"

Harry scowled. "Yes, Snape, all. I did, at one time, try replying to the letters I got, but the number just kept growing, and the ones who got a reply only seemed encouraged no matter what I said to them. Used to be, Mrs. Weasley took it upon herself to weed out the fanmail, but Dobby took over when Mrs. Weasley started letting through the girls she thought might be a good match, after she got over the fact that I never intended to marry her daughter."

"Hm," Snape hummed. Harry got the idea he was feigning real interest as he watched him clean. Snape leaned uncomfortably close, looking over Harry's shoulder at the pile of sawdust he had collected. "You realize there are spells to do that for you?"

"Screen for fanmail?" Harry asked, looking over his shoulder with a smirk.

Snape scowled. "Clean up the debris from your work."

"Ah," Harry said as if he hadn't already known that. He smiled, turning and leaning on his broom. "Well, unlike most wizards, I much prefer to do a job myself, rather than rely on my wand for every little thing."

Snape hummed again, but before Harry could make anything of it, the man had turned and left the attic. Harry rolled his eyes as he returned to his task. Hopefully, he could get this done quickly, and still have enough daylight to read his alchemy book out of doors. He was on his second read-through, and his interest hadn't waned in the slightest. Rather, it seemed to grow as he read each new spell again.


	6. Chapter 6

They had been back at the school for almost a month. Harry had had an 'encounter' with his imagination twice in that time, and was slightly grateful (if there was anything about these 'encounters' to be grateful for) that they only seemed to happen when he was alone. It still scared him a little that his feelings for the Potions Master could do a complete turnabout when his imagination grew… active.

It was in History of Magic that Harry first realized his subconscious might be telling him something about the man, something surprising and strange…

"Mister Perkins, remain after class," Binns said as the bell rang to release everyone.

Almost everyone looked around in confusion. Harry looked at Hermione, who leaned close to whisper.

"I think he means you…"

Harry sighed and finished packing away his things at a slower pace. "Yes, sir."

Binns had never made a habit of reprimanding students for sleeping through his class, and until now Harry had doubted the man even noticed. It was just his luck that the man would finally take notice and pick him out of the crowd. After everyone had gone, Harry went to the front of the room with his bag on his shoulder. He stood before the History of Magic professor's desk, shifting nervously from one foot to the other.

"I don't need to tell you that you are failing my class," Binns said dryly. "As you have been for the last seven years."

Harry blushed, but opted not to reply.

"However, it was brought to my attention at the start of term that you have an interest in another branch of History of Magic."

Harry scoffed. "No I don't."

"Alchemy, Mister Perkins, is, though it may come as a shock to you, a part of Wizarding history. It has been used as defense, and offense, in the many wars you slept through, though not the one you won, and has shaped Wizarding society as we know it today. Take, for instance, the many Wizarding items that mimic Muggle electricity. Think back to your Yule Ball performance, where the Weird Sisters performed to great applause, using electronics that should not have been able to function inside of Hogwarts. Wizarding watches, Wizarding plumbing, and the ever-popular Wizarding radio, are all thanks to the use of Alchemy," Binns explained.

Harry gaped. "But, how did you know- Hermione!"

"I cannot say. I agreed that the teller would remain anonymous," Binns answered. "However, I wasn't finished. As I was saying, it was brought to my attention that you are interested in Alchemy. Unfortunately, Hogwarts hasn't had an Alchemy class in several centuries, how I miss the days-"

"How old are you?" Harry blurted. Somehow, he'd always been sure Binns had been here sometime after Dumbledore, and that that was why the Headmaster had kept him on. It had never occurred to him that Binns might've been here long before the aging wizard.

"Will you let me finish," Binns said sternly. Harry blushed and nodded. "And yet again, as I was saying, Hogwarts, unfortunately, no longer hosts a course on Alchemy. It is an advanced magic, though the tools it uses are not as advanced as you might think. Having learned of this interest of yours, I have commissioned a few of your other teachers in allowing you to utilize this interest for something useful, namely, a better grade in my course."

Harry grinned with excitement. "Really?" He asked, suddenly interested with the turn of the conversation.

"Indeed, Mister Perkins. If you wish to improve your grade in my course, as well as learn magic that will help you in whatever other branch of magic you choose to pursue away from Hogwarts, then it will mean extra classes. You will have to attend Professor Babbling every Monday and Thursday evening following dinner, where she will teach you a different branch of Runework that ties directly to Alchemy. Professor Vector has agreed to let you attend a Sunday-noon lunch-hour course in her office, to teach you the necessary numerical spells, though you won't have to learn many as a beginner in Alchemy, and Professor Wright has agreed to tutor you during your new free period on Wednesdays in some basic Earth magic that, while not necessary, is of use in Alchemy. And, of course, Professor Snape has agreed to oversee you in the Potions Lab every Friday evening and Saturday afternoon, where he and I will try to teach you the necessary science-magic that is Alchemy's core," Binns told him.

Harry gaped again. "You're joking? All those professors, almost all of whom have never even had me in their class, are willing to give up their free time to let me have a go at a better History mark? Even Sn- Professor Snape?" He asked. "What's the catch?"

"Alchemy is not a branch of magic the Wizarding World takes lightly, young man," Binns replied evenly. "The reason there hasn't been an alchemy class in many, many years, is because few Wizards, or Witches, possess the talent necessary for its pursuit. And there, Mister Perkins, lies your 'catch'. If you fail to show a natural affinity for Alchemy, the lessons will be ended and you'll resume sleeping your way through my class. Am I understood?"

Harry, who was terrible at doubting himself for someone who'd been bullied most of his life, nodded vigorously. "Deal!" He exclaimed. "When do I start?"

"Professor Babbling expects you in her classroom on the Sixth Floor tomorrow evening to begin your lessons in runework."

"Thank you, Professor, thank you so much!" Harry cried gleefully.

Binns' face did not change, but he bowed his head. "Indeed, Mister Perkins. It is not only I that hopes you do not fail. You are dismissed, and I hope you will not be returning to this class any time soon, for your sake as well as the Wizarding World's."

Harry, grinning like a loon, left the classroom quickly, for what he hoped would be the last time. He ran into Ron and Hermione in the corridor, both of whom looked worried as they followed him towards the Grand Staircase.

"You were in there an awfully long time, Harry," Hermione said. "Why are you smiling like that?"

"I get to learn Alchemy," Harry told her matter-of-factly. He was very satisfied to watch both hers and Ron's jaws drop. "Binns somehow convinced several other teachers to help teach me everything I need to know, said it would substitute my History grade if it turned out I had an affinity."

"That's amazing, Harry!" Ron said loudly. "Alchemy is supposed to be really difficult, though."

"Not really," Harry demurred. "I found an old book in Dumbledore's safe house that taught me the basic theory, and it doesn't seem hard at all. I thought it looked rather fun. I'm pretty sure I told you guys that."

Both of his friends shook their heads.

Harry frowned, looking at Hermione. "So it wasn't you who told Binns about my interest?"

Hermione shook her head again. "Couldn't have been, I didn't even know you'd been studying it, let alone liked it." She replied.

Harry's brow furrowed further as he looked back at the History of Magic classroom. He froze in his tracks when he saw Snape stepping into the classroom from the other end of the corridor. His heart sped up as his jaw dropped when the Potions Master paused in the doorway to glance at him with a knowing smirk. Snape looked down for a moment, as if composing himself, before entering the room and closing the door. Harry continued to gape at the closed door in utter shock. So, not only had Snape noticed what he spent half the summer doing, and not only had he agreed to teach Harry a new, difficult branch of Potions, he'd given Binns the idea in the first place. This was completely contradictory to everything that had ever happened between him and Snape, and Harry felt his head spin as if the world were upending itself. A hand on his shoulder grounded him and he slowly came back to himself. Finally, when he was sure he wouldn't faint, or vomit, he looked at his friends, who looked more worried than ever.

"Snape," He rasped. He swallowed thickly, hearing the dry click of his throat, and tried again. "Snape set this up!"

Ron snorted as if this were the greatest joke in the world, but Hermione looked vindicated.

"I told you some good had to come of the two of you spending an entire summer together," She said joyously.

Harry shook his head, putting the heel of his hand to his brow as if warding off a headache. "This… this is just too weird," He muttered. He looked up again. "Let's just get back to the common room before I faint of shock."

Hermione giggled delightedly, and Harry followed as she and Ron, who was still laughing, started back down the corridor towards the Grand Staircase.


	7. Chapter 7

Harry had been at his Alchemy lessons for more than two months, and showed no sign of slowing. Binns had been so impressed with his progress that he'd promised a more advanced study of the theory and practice following Christmas Holiday. Unfortunately, for reasons Harry wasn't told, his lessons ended a full week before the break began. Still, Harry couldn't help but delight in his life. He was learning magic that was rarer than Divination, he had been given permission to spend the whole Break in the Restricted Section reading the advanced theories he would soon be putting into practice, his friends weren't going to be around to pester him into not studying (and he did feel slightly guilty that he counted this among the good things in his life), and, perhaps best of all, he hadn't had a daydream of Snape in a full three days. He wasn't sure what had brought about this likely-temporary relief, but he was grateful for it all the same. It was disorienting enough to have Snape treating him like a human being during both Potions and his Alchemy lessons.

Harry felt an overwhelming urge to whistle as he walked back from Hogsmeade alone. He managed to deny this urge, but couldn't deny its purpose. He was happy. Not just content, but really and truly happy for the first time since his First Year. Better, even, considering there wasn't a Dark Wizard waiting in the wings for once. And he'd gotten all of his Christmas shopping done without help.

He hadn't wanted to tell his friends, but he'd decided to give a gift to all of the professors helping to teach him Alchemy. Vector and Snape had been, by far, the hardest to shop for. Babbling had been easy, he'd simply bought her a nice big supply of the candies she was always munching on. Wright and Binns had been slightly more difficult. What did you buy a hippie and a ghost for Christmas? That sounded like the beginnings of a bad joke. He'd finally settled on a stone-wrapping jewelry kit for Wright, and the dustiest book he could find in the out-of-the-way bookstore for Binns. He hadn't, however, come across any such easy finds for Vector and Snape.

Both were so stern, and so distant, it was impossible to discern their interests outside of their respective classrooms, and Harry refused to give either of them a generic classroom gift. The point of the presents was to let these professors know he well and truly appreciated the time and assistance they'd given so freely, and a generic gift did not say all that, no matter what he wrote on the card. Finally, on this, the last Hogsmeade weekend before the Holiday, a mere hour before his last lesson for the semester with Snape and Binns, he'd finally found what he wanted.

For Vector, Harry had found a beautiful bookmark in the even-more-out-of-the-way book shop. It was spelled to act as a magnifier and light, where the entire stone placeholder would glow ethereally with a whispered spell, and was thin, mostly transparent, onyx. He'd been lucky to learn by chance that Vector had been a Hufflepuff, and had paid extra to have a tassel of her House colors looped from one end. For Snape, Harry had found the most unusual of all the gifts. Hidden away in a dusty corner of Hogsmeade's jewelry shop, the same one he'd found Wright's present in, he'd found the most amazing serpentine cloak clasp. It was, of course, magical, and pure silver to boot. Where most of the cloak clasps, from plain to bizarrely intricate, were spelled with warming charms and things, Harry had been fascinated to learn that this particular clasp produced a cooling charm for the wearer. Harry, recalling how many times he'd been forced to light a fire on a rainy day when he came downstairs at the safe house to discover the bottom floor was freezing, immediately told the shopkeeper that it was precisely what he was looking for. The jeweler had been skeptical, to say the least, but had eventually relented and allowed him to buy it.

With his shopping done, Harry was now headed back to Hogwarts alone. Ron and Hermione thought he was mad to return to the school before he absolutely had to, but Harry had admittedly depleted most of the gold in his bag in buying the secret gifts for his teachers, and couldn't have afforded to eat lunch in the village if he wanted to have any spending money for the rest of term. They had been less than understanding (very upset, actually) about his lack of gold to share out, as he usually did, but this had only hardened his resolve to return to the castle alone. He hoped he would make it back to the school in time to change and eat before lunch ended in the Great Hall.

"Mister Potter."

Harry froze and turned at the sound of that voice. He found himself instantly pressed against the nearest tree, his bags falling from his gloved fingers as a raven-haired head dipped to sigh gently against the skin of his throat above his scarf. He swallowed thickly. He knew he had to be daydreaming again, as no one in their right mind would be out in the drifting snow without a cloak, but knowing did not stop his body's reaction to their proximity.

"You're late, Mister Potter."

"N-not yet," Harry gasped as a sharp digit pulled down his scarf to allow sharper teeth to rake across his skin.

"I think you must be in dire need of punishment," Snape murmured against his throat. Thin lips pressed gently to his cold skin.

Harry nodded enthusiastically. He reached up to grab the man, only for his hands to meet open air. His eyes, which he didn't even remember closing, flew open to find he was alone on the road. Scowling angrily, Harry lifted his foot to kick the nearest tree, but thought better of it at the last moment and instead kicked a large mound of snow, scattering the ice crystals.

"God damn it!"

"Dare I ask what the snow has done to upset you so?" Came the unwelcome answer.

Harry cringed and looked, still scowling, at the Potions Master who had somehow snuck up on him. He looked away just as quickly, after ascertaining that the man was indeed wearing a winter cloak, unlike the phantom of his imagination, and lightly kicked the snow at his feet. He shrugged, then scooped down to pick up his dropped packages, recalling too late that Snape's and Vector's gifts were slightly fragile. He really hoped neither had broken, and that the softening charms that had been placed around them had held.

"Just lamenting my budgetary problems," He lied. "Like an idiot, I didn't think I needed any more gold than what I had left over from last year, and now I'm a little short on cash. It's not really a big problem for me, but apparently for my friends it's enough to berate me like spoiled brats."

Snape scoffed, stalking past him. "Foolish boy. Ignoring your choice in companions, you need only send a letter to Gringotts via the messenger owls in the village. The wizard there is specially trained to take the magical signature of your Gringotts key, as well as use a Blood Quill, so that you can retrieve as much gold as you need."

Harry cringed as he followed the Potions Master back towards the school. "Thanks, but no thanks," He said bitterly. "I've had my fill of Blood Quills, enough to last a lifetime. I'll just put up with my friends, and deal with my financial problems like an adult and use a budget."

"Do as you see fit," Snape said dismissively.

Harry shrugged this off, and focused on watching where he was going. He was still really hoping that his active imagination hadn't broken the expensive gifts he'd just bought, and was now wondering if he was capable of gathering the courage necessary, in the month before the next Hogsmeade trip, to ever use a Blood Quill willingly again. He had discovered that being a Gryffindor didn't always mean you were full of courage, nor even that you could always gather the courage you needed. Sometimes, like with Neville, it just meant you had the courage to do what was right, even if you didn't want to. As he and Snape ascended the steps into Hogwarts, Harry wondered if the Blood Quill had become his Achilles heel of sorts. As Snape continued to the dungeons and Harry decided to go to lunch before changing, he blushingly realized that, even if Blood Quills hadn't, his feelings for Snape were certainly working their way towards that pedestal of honor, a pedestal whimsically entitled 'Things the Boy Who Lived Would Really Rather Not Face Just Now, If Ever'.

-Break-

Harry went down to breakfast Christmas morning excitedly. He tried to tell himself that he wasn't hoping for some sign that the teachers he'd given gifts to liked said gifts, that it wasn't about their gratitude, but his, but this did not stop him hoping. He hoped upon hope that the gifts had been received well, particularly Snape, Binns, and Vector. He knew Professor Babbling would have been happy for any gift, and probably Professor Wright as well, but it was his three sternest professors, who had been so shockingly patient with him, who he wanted to impress the most.

The Boy Who Lived froze in the doorway to the Great Hall and blushed profusely as he realized all the professors had already come down, and his gift recipients all had their gifts with them. Babbling was eating a candy for every bite she took of her breakfast, tossing them into the air and catching them deftly on her tongue, Binns was magically levitating the book he'd been given and reading intently, Wright was wearing a stone necklace and appeared to be working on another as he ate distractedly, Vector was reading with bookmark in hand, and Snape was sipping at coffee, reading comfortably as well, and seemed truly relaxed as the silver snakes at his throat cooled him.

"Harry, m'boy," Dumbledore spoke from the center of the table.

The Gryffindor's blush deepened as four sets of eyes rose to him, and three of them brightened considerably. He stood frozen as Wright, Babbling, and Vector stood and approached him. His blush deepened further when two of them wrapped him in a hug, and Babbling placed a wet kiss on his cheek.

"Thank you so much, Harry," Babbling said before kissing him again.

Wright spoke from his other side. "You're amazingly perceptive, kiddo. I always wanted to make my own jewelry. Thanks a billion."

Harry nodded and the two professors broke off to return to their seats. He looked sheepishly up at the sharp, stern woman who had joined them, and was shocked speechless when she hugged him as well.

"You truly are an amazing young man," Vector murmured against the top of his head.

"Thank you," Harry stammered.

Vector pulled away and touched his head gently with a kind smile. "No, young man, thank you."

Harry thought his blush might never recede as Vector returned to her seat and he found one near Dumbledore, across from Snape. Idly, he wondered why he seemed to be the only student to have come down yet, but his wondering was thrown aside as obsidian eyes found his over the dusty tome Snape was reading.

"I will not be hugging you," Snape said sternly.

Harry couldn't stop a disarming chuckle, and was shocked again when Snape smirked at him.

"That said, I must extend my own thanks, Mister Potter," Snape said with a slight bow of his head, never breaking eye contact. "I found your gift quite useful, and very thoughtful, especially considering those financial difficulties you mentioned."

Harry felt his blush return full force as he found himself the center of scrutiny for all his gift recipients. "It's really not that big of a deal," He demurred. "I had the money, and it seemed more important than buying a few extra sweets. You've all given up so much of your free time to help me, and, perhaps more than that, none of you have blown up at me yet for being thick. I thought you'd more than earned some tangible gratitude from me."

Binns cleared his throat pointlessly. "Teaching is its' own reward," He said clearly. His ghostly pale eyes met startled green. "That said, I would also like to extend my gratitude. It seems you are determined to defy even the silliest of rules."

Harry frowned and looked to Dumbledore, who winked at him conspiratorially. "Students aren't technically allowed to give or receive gifts from teachers," He stage-whispered. "It's not really a rule, the Board just tends to frown on it. You'll likely run into that a lot as you continue here as an adult."

Harry felt himself blush again as he turned to breaking his nightly fast with the delicious foods laid out on the table before him.


	8. Chapter 8

Harry looked at his watch anxiously as he walked quickly down the corridor. He was so late. Neville had agreed to help him practice his Earth Magic, because he was struggling with the duplication spell, and he'd lost track of time while writing his essay for Transfiguration. Lucky Hermione had been there to remind him, or he'd have forgotten entirely. Now he had to race down to the Greenhouses.

"Mister Potter," A sultry voice murmured in the empty corridor.

Harry groaned. "Not now," He moaned.

Featherlight fingers trailed down the side of his neck, and he decided he'd had enough. He turned and grabbed the slightly taller form, pulling Snape's head down into a forceful kiss. His fingers fisted in the dark hair, and a strong arm wrapped around his waist to draw him against the firm body. He pulled back with a gasp as a warm tongue brushed against his lips.

"N-n-not a dream, then," He breathed.

Snape looked nothing short of shocked. He cleared his throat. "Mister Potter, I… I have no idea what that was about."

"Never mind," Harry said quickly. "F-forget I did that. Impulsive. Stupid. I-is there a reason you came looking for me?"

Harry knew he was absolutely failing to play it cool. Why the hell had he done that? He'd been so sure it was another daydream, and they'd always ended before anything happened, he'd just been hoping to end it before it got started. Now he'd actually kissed Snape, the real Snape, and the man still looked to be in shock.

"Tonight's lesson will be cut short," Snape said mildly, his tone rougher than usual as he avoided meeting Harry's eye.

"O-oh," Harry said. "Any particular reason?" He kept hoping that if he kept talking then Snape would forget the entire encounter.

"Personal reasons," Snape replied shortly.

Harry nodded. "Yup, good, makes sense. I'll, er, see you tonight, Professor. H-Have a good one and all that."

Harry turned sharply on his heel and walked away as quickly as he could, mentally beating himself up. What had he done? No way in hell was he ever going to live that down. Snape probably wouldn't tell anyone, to protect his own reputation, at least, but good Lord, Harry was never going to be able to look the man in the eye again. He hated his daydreams now more than ever.

Although, Snape was a really good kisser.


	9. Chapter 9

Valentine's Day dawned with yet more snow on the ground, and Harry sighed pitifully as he traipsed after Ron and Hermione to breakfast. He hated Valentines. Already he'd had to burn three letters that had made it past Dobby, and never mind the amount of questionable chocolates he'd found on his trunk this morning. The sheer number of letters and gifts was too much for Dobby to weed through, and Harry knew that the day of lovers would only get worse for him as it wore on. A Fourth Year Hufflepuff had already tried kissing him underneath the godforsaken mistletoe that Dumbledore had strung up in several doorways around the castle, and he hadn't even made it to breakfast yet.

Harry stalled as he nearly ran bodily into Snape in the archway of the Great Hall. Snape stopped as well. Their eyes glanced off each other like flint off steel, and Harry felt his cheeks warm as he made to go around. Snape stopped him by strong-arming his shoulder.

"Potter…" Snape said with a groan.

Harry looked up the four or five inches to see Snape staring above their heads. He winced as his gaze followed to the top of the arch several feet above them. Directly over their heads hung a large sprig of holly and mistletoe, the red and white berries and glossy leaves glistening in the dull sunlight from the Great Hall's ceiling and windows.

"Bad luck," He murmured.

Snape's eyes snapped down to him. "Make no mistake, Potter, I am being coerced," He warned.

Harry nodded. "I'd have assumed as much. Didn't think you held much stock in luck."

"You do?"

Harry shrugged lightly. "It's gotten me this far."

Snape grimaced, nodding, and leaned down to place a swift kiss on Harry's lips before shifting around him, his long stride carrying him away quickly. Harry found he was a little disappointed. His daydreams had ended ever since he'd kissed the actual man a few weeks back, but he hadn't been able to stop thinking about the Potions Master. He'd sort of hoped for a repeat of the performance.

"What the hell was that?" Ron asked as Harry sat down beside him.

Harry shrugged nonchalantly as he began dishing eggs onto his plate. "Rotten luck," He replied simply. "Dumbledore apparently blackmailed Snape into kissing anyone he meets under the mistletoe."

"D'you think he planned that?" Hermione asked, giggling.

Harry shrugged again. "Wouldn't put it past him. Can we not talk about this while I'm eating? Or ever? For any reason?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You're so boring, Harry. You used to be fun."

Harry scowled at his friend, who was really not one to talk. She shrugged and turned her attention to Ginny, who was giggling uncontrollably and trying to hide it. They started to whisper, too low for Harry to hear, and he sighed into his food. He hated Valentines. The entire Great Hall was whispering, and he could feel eyes on him even as he focused on eating his breakfast.

-Break-

"How does this keep happening?" Harry asked. For the third time that day, Harry had wound up kissing a complete stranger. And, of course, none of them, boy or girl, had let him get away with a simple kiss on the cheek.

Hermione giggled. "I don't know, but its hilarious," She wheezed.

She and Ron had been attached at the hip all day, and had gleefully carried out the tradition together, leaving Harry trapped with whoever else might be waiting. And they were waiting. Harry had seen more than once as a girl or boy darted beneath the mistletoe to meet him on purpose. It was aggravating, to say the least. Hermione had explained about the history of the mistletoe, though, about its long mythology and tradition, and he felt obligated to partake in it. He'd feel obligated anyway, the Boy Who Lived had an image to maintain, after all. He couldn't tell people to sod off, much as he wanted to, because the jury of public opinion was never kind to stand-offish idols, and making himself an enemy to everyone who just wanted a little attention was a good way to get a whole lot of people pissed off in short order. He didn't want that kind of attention. He didn't want any attention, mind, but he was stuck being Harry Potter no matter what, and he couldn't bear breaking some Second Year's heart just because he was sore.

Harry sighed with relief as he looked at his watch. It was finally time for his evening class. He could spend a couple hours just focusing on Alchemy, forget about the world for a bit. And, perhaps best of all, there was no mistletoe in the dungeons. Harry didn't know if Dumbledore had known better than to sully those corridors, or if Snape had set fire to any sprig, as he'd done to several throughout the day, according to the rumors, but he was grateful all the same. It would be a welcome relief.

"I'll catch you guys later," Harry said, grabbing his bag.

He'd come up to Gryffindor to change after dinner. Alchemy and Potions were easier without robes, but Snape only let him go without for his Alchemy classes because of the school dress code. He grabbed his cloak from the row of hooks by the door that Hermione had petitioned for. No robe, but it was bloody cold in the castle. He'd be fine once he reached the dungeons, as the Potions classroom was always warm because of the number of torches and candles, but the trek down was bound to be chilly. Besides, with his cloak he could try to hide his face to hopefully stop any further attempts to kiss him.

Harry raced down the corridors, dodging in and out of students. His luck held for the first several floors. However, he had to skid to a stop when Malfoy stepped in front of him on the third floor. He swallowed thickly at the predatory look in the Slytherin's eyes. He scowled, praying that Malfoy wasn't about to make use of a mistletoe sprig Harry hadn't noticed.

"What do you want?" Harry asked, his shoulders tensing up.

Malfoy shrugged. "Where are you going, Potter?"

"None of your business," Harry countered.

Malfoy examined his nails. "Rumor has it you've been studying Alchemy."

Harry almost groaned. Not mistletoe, then, but somehow worse. He almost would have preferred the agonizingly disgusting kiss. "Even you should be smart enough not to listen to rumors," Harry said, curling his lip.

Ron and Hermione were, he'd thought, the only ones who knew he was studying the ancient, finicky branch of magic. Harry hadn't wanted anyone else to know. He didn't really have a reason, beyond the fact that Alchemy was his. It was something real, something that set him apart, something besides his undeserved fame. His professors had been clever enough to pick up on that, and even they never mentioned it where others might hear. He knew it had only been a matter of time, though, before someone put the pieces together, considering the extra tutoring he'd been getting. He was honestly surprised it had taken this long for Malfoy to work out what those particular classes all had in common.

Malfoy stepped into his personal space. "I want in, Potter."

"Like hell," Harry answered quickly. "You don't know the first thing about Alchemy!"

"I'm a quick learner."

Harry rolled his eyes, and Malfoy smirked.

"Either I come with you, or I give the Daily Prophet a quote about your special tutoring with Snape and that sweet little kiss you two shared in the Great Hall this morning."

Harry gaped. "Are you mad? You could get him fired if you do that! Everyone would assume there was something going on! He's your own Head of House, you moron."

Malfoy shrugged again, crossing his arms over his chest. "He's a Half-Blood, hardly deserving of my support. Besides, you wouldn't let me do it, now will you?"

"You wouldn't dare," Harry challenged.

"Willing to bet his job on it?" Malfoy countered smugly.

Harry groaned. He really, really hated this prat. No, he wasn't willing to bet Snape's job, and he knew Malfoy was not one for idle threats. He gave a reluctant nod and moved around the blonde bastard to continue down to the dungeons. Hopefully, Snape would deal with him in short order… Harry didn't think the Potions Master would let him join the lesson, but one never knew. Slytherins were weirdly indebted to one another, and Malfoy and Snape had long established a symbiotic relationship. Malfoy did something, and Snape almost always let him get away with it, in return for Harry-didn't-know-what.

The Gryffindor wondered suddenly at the jealous edge to his thoughts. He had no claim on the Potions Master, but somehow the thought of this prat coming between them seemed all-too likely. He was a Slytherin, the Ice Prince, and Snape had always shown him special favor. He was also the only other student Snape had been forced to kiss today, if he'd even needed to be forced. What if Malfoy intended to seduce the Potions Master? It wasn't outside the realm of possibility. Malfoy had already made a point of trying to seduce half of Hogwarts. He probably wasn't looking for something serious, Harry doubted he was even capable of a real relationship, but Snape would be a hell of a notch on the blonde's bedpost. He was stoic, withdrawn, and completely hard-hearted. Seducing Snape would be a hell of a challenge and a hell of a boon to the playboy reputation he'd been building. Jealousy gnawed sharply at Harry's stomach as he led the way into the Potions classroom.

"Potter, you're late."

Harry winced as he took up his usual place at the front of the room. "Sorry, sir, there was a bit of a… well, I was detained."

"What do you mean-?" Snape looked up from the notes he'd been bent over and transferring to the board behind him to see Harry's unwanted companion. "Malfoy, what do you want?"

"I want in, Potter said I could," Malfoy said firmly. He sat down at a stool further towards the back of the room.

Snape rolled his eyes as he returned to his notes. "We will not be doing a review, but you may join if you believe you can keep up. We'll see if your cockiness has merit."

Harry groaned as he sat down and began pulling out his materials. He'd really been hoping Snape would turn the brat around at the door. But, at least he didn't have to worry about suffering through the basics again for Malfoy's benefit. When his cauldron and kit were set out, he looked around for Binns, who usually had something to say about how badly he needed better materials. Binns, Harry realized, was nowhere in sight.

"Professor Binns has been called upon by the Headmaster for other business," Snape said, still reading over his notes as he spelled a diagram onto the board behind him. "You are stuck with me alone this evening."

Harry resisted the urge to sigh with relief. This had happened a few times, and he was always glad when it did. Binns was always dry and boring, and insisted on giving a history of whatever solution they were working on before Harry was allowed to attempt it himself. Harry didn't mind the history, so much, as it was usually pretty interesting, but Binns had a way of making even the most fascinating history sound boring.

"What are we working on today, Professor?" Harry asked calmly, trying to ignore the brat a few rows back.

Snape straightened and clasped his hands behind his back as the diagram behind him finished. It was a layout of the sinus system of a werewolf.

"Tonight, we will be practicing the alchemical solution and wards to deter werewolves," He said lightly. "The Headmaster's idiotic encouragement of a school-wide outbreak of flu inspired me."

Harry snickered. Werewolves were allergic to mistletoe, which meant he would spend the next few hours pulverizing the offending plant to use in his solution. It was technically a basic solution that they'd already covered before Christmas, but the wards were some of the most advanced Harry had come across. He looked forward to attempting them.

"Malfoy, as you do not have the appropriate materials, I will provide you with what you need, tonight only." Snape flicked his wand and the cauldron and other things danced out of the store cupboard to settle on the desk across the aisle from Harry. "Do try to keep up."

Harry smirked evilly as Malfoy moved forward and looked over the items laid out on the table with clear confusion on his face. He turned back to his own station and began to work as Snape ran through the process of preparing the mistletoe and the base that would be used to coat the otherwise-ordinary branch of wood they would use for this lesson's alchemical wand. Alchemy wands were advanced magic, and could only be used for a single intended purpose. Harry had a store of wands in his trunk, which could be used to draw wards for just about anything. He had actually used one to draw an alchemical symbol on the back of his calf, a ward against clumsiness. A month in, it was still clearly working, as he moved with near-unbroken grace. Binns had been unhappy to learn about him permanently scarring himself, even if it was barely visible, but Snape and Vector had thought it clever, and practical.

As Harry worked diligently, almost flawlessly, he glanced over at the brat working at the other bench. Malfoy was clearly struggling to keep up as Snape explained, and Harry felt a twinge of guilt. He didn't like the Slytherin, but he didn't really want to watch him humiliate himself either. He also didn't want to risk that the evil git wouldn't get Snape in trouble by retaliating when he failed. He couldn't help, but…

Harry looked up and caught the Potions Master's black gaze. He jerked his head subtly in Malfoy's direction. Snape frowned as he continued speaking. Harry summoned a piece of chalk from the board and etched a ward onto the back of his hand. It would allow him to project his thoughts, or, rather, a thought. There were stronger wards he could use, but it was impolite, to say the least, to use telepathy without another's permission.

"Blackmail, against you," He told Snape. He rubbed the back of his hand against his white shirt where it wouldn't show.

The Slytherin Head of House gave a slow nod of acknowledgment, his speech never faltering. Harry returned to his work as the Potions Master stepped down from the teaching platform to begin guiding Malfoy first hand. Harry felt a wave of jealousy strike him again. It wasn't fair. But, as his daydreams of Snape loved to remind him, life wasn't fair. If special treatment kept Malfoy from doing something as stupid and reckless as threatening his own Head of House's career, then Harry just had to live with that.

Harry scowled as he looked over to see Malfoy flirting overtly, no longer even paying attention to the work Snape was trying to teach him. He growled angrily and dropped the berries from the sprig Snape had provided into his mortar, crushing them angrily into a smooth paste. He carefully dripped the acid base he'd already made in his cauldron into the opalescent paste, holding his breath as smoke drifted up from the marble bowl in his hand. The smoke wasn't deadly, but the mistletoe in the acid, mixed with the berries, made the little tendrils of smoke mildly poisonous, and like hell was he going to get Snape's attention back on him by fainting or throwing up. He stirred carefully until the paste had thickened to a gel. Here he paused, as he had to let the gel settle for ten to fifteen minutes, in part to gain potency, but mostly to be safe enough to touch without the poison leeching through his skin.

Given this short break, he reached into his bag and withdrew one of his alchemy books. Purely by chance, it was the one that actually discussed this exact alchemical solution, which meant he wouldn't have to borrow Snape's. (The man was knowledgeable, but sadly lacked the specific magic to practice Alchemy). It also specified the drawing of the wards. These ones, because of the potion's ingredients, could not be drawn on skin, but a skilled Alchemist could use them to ward entire houses.

Dumbledore wasn't the first Alchemist Headmaster. There were werewolf, banshee, and a slew of other creature wards on the school, molded into the incredibly intricate design on the front doors of the castle. They were ancient, you couldn't even see them if you weren't looking for them, but they still had their power. Dumbledore had altered the werewolf ward to allow Remus in as a student. Unfortunately, not even Binns knew who had made them originally. They were after the Founder's time, but sometime before Merlin's. Harry immersed himself in how to draw the wards. This was his favorite area of Alchemy. It was all well and good to use a jumble of materials to create or repair something, and he could do that really well, but he really enjoyed the intricacy of Alchemical Runes. The slightest shift in the drawing could make a spell stronger or weaker. This one, in particular, was fascinating because if you drew too deep with the quartz, or used a cracked stone, it could cause the ward to explode on contact with a werewolf, then dissolve entirely, rather than merely act as a constant barrier.

Harry was startled from inspecting his crystal by the sound of a body hitting the floor, followed by a toppled stool. He looked over and took in the sight before him. Malfoy was collapsed on the ground, his head cushioned by his arm, his stool on its side, with Snape standing on the other side of the table, pinching the bridge of his nose. Malfoy had breathed in the vapors, apparently. Harry rolled his eyes as he returned to his book. He expected Snape to go about rousing his precious Slytherin, but the man moved instead to Harry's bench to inspect his work.

"How much longer on your gel?" Snape asked calmly.

"About five minutes. Shouldn't we help him?"

"He will survive. Besides, if he is here when he comes around I can counter his blackmail more easily than I could in the Hospital Wing," Snape answered. He picked up Harry's mortar and shook the marble bowl. The coagulate didn't even jiggle, and Snape set it back down with a proud glint in his black eyes. Harry chuckled.

"Slytherins are always ten steps ahead," He joked. "I can barely commit ten minutes ahead."

Snape smirked and returned to his desk. "When your solution has finished settling, I want you to draw your ward above the door of my classroom. We will use that to test it."

"Expecting a visit from Remus?" Harry asked, chuckling.

Snape continued to smirk. "He has been extremely persistent in trying to socialize with me."

Harry chuckled again and turned back to his book. If he was using this on his honorary godfather, he'd better get it right. As he looked over the wards a fourth time, his mind began to wander. Why was Remus trying to socialize with Snape? They hated each other, didn't they? Harry felt another tendril of jealousy touch his heart, and he hated himself. This was getting out of hand. Malfoy was one thing, but seducing Snape was probably the last thing on Remus' mind. Besides, Harry glanced at the Potions Master and felt a stone settle in his stomach; the man would never want to pursue something with him. Why would he? Except for a mild talent in Alchemy, Harry was basically useless, and he wasn't even pretty to look at. They'd been getting along pretty well since the summer, and more so since the stupid kiss, but Harry knew that was largely tolerance, at least on the Potions Master's part. His own interest was tainted by the stupid daydreams that had led to him kissing the man by accident, but he still wasn't entirely sure where they had come from. He felt attraction, strong attraction, now, ever since that stupid kiss had ended the fantasies, but he hadn't when they'd started. He needed this to stop. The fantasies had stopped… he wished the infatuation would die as swift a death, and soon. He didn't want to be attracted to Snape. He wanted to be attracted to someone, anyone, else, someone not completely unattainable.

Snape cleared his throat. Harry looked up to see the man looking at him with a raised brow, tapping his wrist. Harry started. He'd almost forgotten his solution, so mired in his thoughts. He turned to the pale white gel and began to roll a length of twine through the mixture. When it was properly coated, he picked up the cedar branch and small quartz crystal, wrapping the stone into the end of the wand, in a slot he'd already carved out with Earth magic. The coated twine crossed and circled over the crystal and rod. Harry grinned when the wand grew warm in his hand as he tied off the end. He blew gently on the crystal, and it began to emit a soft glow. He looked past the wand to Snape, who was smirking proudly. Harry got up and dragged a stool over to the door, where he used the hot crystal to burn the necessary stream of runes into the wooden doorjamb. When he'd finished, he carried the wand back to the front of the room, blowing on it again to deactivate it.

Snape took the rod and inspected it for flaws before giving a firm nod. He handed the wand back.

"Well done, as always, Mister Potter. I shall inform you by tomorrow's lesson if your ward holds."

Harry chuckled. "If I don't hear about it from Remus, first," He joked.

Snape smirked and looked down as Harry returned to his bench to clear his workspace and put away his materials. He knew how to clean his cauldron, but Snape usually insisted on doing it himself. He waited to hear if he would be staying longer to do so and wasn't disappointed as he finished putting his things in his bag.

"You may leave your cauldron by the sink, Mister Potter. Mister Malfoy will see to it before the night is out."

Harry snickered as he threw his cloak over his shoulders and bag. "Sure thing. Good night, Professor."

"Good night, Mister Potter."

The Gryffindor smirked cruelly at the unconscious blonde still lying on the floor before turning and leaving the classroom, dropping his cauldron on the counter by the door as he went. It was about time Malfoy learned that he couldn't always get everything he wanted. Harry couldn't deny that the manipulative brat usually did get what he wanted, but he was glad that he didn't have to worry about that with Alchemy… or with Snape. The man couldn't possibly fall prey to the blonde's clumsy seduction after that performance. Harry reached into his pocket for his wand to cast a warming charm as the frigid air attacked him, and froze halfway to the stairs out of the dungeons. He'd forgotten his wand, his actual wand, in Snape's classroom! Groaning, Harry turned back. Hopefully, Malfoy was still out cold, and he could get in and out before he came to.

Harry knocked on the door to the Potions classroom lightly, and let himself in, as he always did for his Alchemy lessons. He froze a second time. Snape was on the floor in the middle of the room, with Malfoy half on top of him, his tongue down his throat. Harry felt his gorge rise threateningly, and he drew back, closing the door sharply. His breath wheezed in and out of the pinhole that was his throat and his eyes burned madly with unshed tears. Forgetting his wand entirely, Harry moved quickly down the corridor, pretending not to notice when the tears started to fall. He had no claim… and now he knew for sure that he never would.


	10. Chapter 10

Harry awoke the next morning with the sun, before any of his dormmates, as usual. He reached for his glasses and found his wand instead. He picked up his glasses and his wand and recalled with a shudder the scene he'd walked in on the night before in search of this exact artifact. He'd been so stupid. He'd known, without hesitation, that his fantasies were pipe dreams, but knowing had apparently done nothing to smother that tiny flicker of hope that burned in his heart. Snape was the first man, hell, the first person, Harry had ever felt this level of attraction towards, he could never have completely convinced himself that nothing would come of it. This did, though. If Snape was attracted to Malfoy (and he hadn't appeared to be resisting in the slightest last night) then there could never possibly be anything between them. Malfoy was smooth, suave, cultured, and quite nice to look at if you didn't mind snobs. Harry was absolutely none of those things.

Before he could start crying again, Harry forced himself to get out of bed and get dressed. Curfew ended in just a few minutes, and he loved being alone in the Great Hall the hour or so before everyone else came down; loved seeing the teachers still sleep-ruffled, no matter how they tried to hide it. They usually buttoned up before any of the other students came down, but as of late they'd stopped putting on airs around him. Harry suspected it had a lot to do with the fact that he would be remaining at Hogwarts for another few years as an Alchemical Apprentice, under the continued guidance of his current Alchemy instructors and the Headmaster. Dumbledore had predicted right at Christmas, as Harry's tentative contract with the Board without formal employment was another frowned-upon non-rule. Dumbledore had tried to make him pick a subject to assist in as well, to sell it to the Board, but the Board had accepted his decision to wait until he received his NEWT results before accepting any additional position. They did expect him to be employed in some capacity, though.

Harry grabbed his bag and left for the Great Hall just as the giant clock chimed, telling the sleeping school that it was 6 in the morning. The corridors were still and silent, with a deep chill that bit at Harry's skin. He concentrated on that feeling as he went, grateful for it. Every time his mind tried to wander to the night before, he focused on the biting chill and for a moment his mind was distracted. He didn't have anyone to blame but himself. He knew better, and he still let himself get taken in by Snape's odd camaraderie. He'd expected, even as he'd told himself he didn't, that something would evolve from it. His own stupid naivety was the thing breaking his heart right now. It was only natural that Snape would choose to… canoodle, as Mrs. Figg used to call it… with his favorite student. Malfoy was clever, good-looking, and Slytherin. Harry was gawky, average at best, and absolutely Gryffindor. How could he have ever hoped to compete?

The Great Hall was deathly still and silent as Harry pushed open one giant wing of the doors. His soft footfalls bounced around the walls, the reflected sky above turning a soft pink and purple as the sun broke the horizon outside the windows. The mistletoe, at least, appeared to be gone. Harry was glad. The last thing he wanted right now was a bunch of people trying to kiss him while he wallowed in self-pity. He'd let himself get drawn in by those damned fantasies. They'd started this whole mess. Harry didn't know where they'd come from, but he hated them. If he'd never started daydreaming, if he could've just gone on hating Snape, then none of this would've happened. Of course, that meant he probably wouldn't have his Alchemy lessons, either. Harry sighed. He supposed, since it had to be, Alchemy was worth getting his romantic dreams crushed for. It was all he had left, now, anyway.

Harry pulled out a book from his bag, and froze when he found a hand, a very familiar hand, resting on the table beside his place setting. He swallowed dryly and forced himself not to look up. He hadn't heard anyone come in, but that didn't mean the real Snape hadn't snuck up on him somehow. He waited, opening his book to a random page. Gentle fingers trailed up the back of his neck into his hair, and Harry stiffened. He wouldn't give in to this. Damn his mind, he wouldn't let himself be taken in again. The hand in his hair gently guided his head to the side as the hand on the table disappeared underneath to rest against his ribs. Hot breath ghosted across the flesh of his exposed throat, and Harry felt his body react, his breath becoming shallow and goosebumps rising on his flesh. He gasped as a warm mouth closed over his pulse and began to suckle. It wasn't rough, but neither was it gentle, and he couldn't stop himself leaning his head further aside, giving the imagined sensations better access. If he was doomed to these damned fantasies for the foreseeable future, he might as well enjoy them. Harry let out a soft cry of desire as sharp teeth raked across the bruise that had risen beneath the suckling lips. The mouth released him, replaced by the tip of the man's tongue as it trailed up to his ear. Harry stiffened as the man hissed in his ear.

"Jealous?"

Harry felt a lone tear slip out as the sensations vanished. He buried his face in his arms on the table and pretended once more that he wasn't crying. Damn Snape, damn Malfoy, and damn his own mind. If this wasn't true insanity, he was afraid to know what was.

-Break-

An hour later Hermione was among the first students to come down for breakfast. Normally, she would have waited for Ron, but the couple had had a huge fight the night before while Harry had been getting his own heart broken. She took the seat next to her friend and pulled out her own book to wait for breakfast. Harry glanced up at the Head Table for the hundredth time since others had begun arriving. Snape still wasn't here. He wished the man would show up. He didn't know why, it's not like he could confront him about the scene he'd walked in on (and he wasn't about to get the man fired over it, no matter how angry he was), but he wanted to see him. Maybe he was hoping to see guilt lace that stoic black gaze. Not romantic guilt, that was stupid, but Snape had to know better than to let himself be seduced by a student. Harry wanted him to know he knew, wanted him to feel as bad as he did, even if it was for different reasons.

"Harry, what did you do?" Hermione asked exasperatedly.

Harry looked at her. "What do you mean?"

She reached up and pulled his shirt collar and robe away from his neck. "You've got a bruise. I thought that irresponsible rune you burned into your flesh was supposed to stop you hurting yourself?"

Harry reached up in confusion and clasped his neck. A bruise? How could he have a bruise-? His eyes widened as his head shot around to the Head Table. Snape still wasn't there, but, oh, how conspicuous that was, now. He stood from the bench quickly, his feet finding their own path of least resistance, thanks to the rune Hermione disdained. He threw his bag over his shoulder and walked quickly, purposefully, away from Gryffindor Table and the Great Hall. Fantasies. How in the hell had he convinced himself they were mere fantasies? He'd never had such an active imagination before in his life. And he'd always acted out his part. Dropping a broom, his Christmas presents, his books on one occasion; pressing back against a wall or a tree… He'd thought himself mad, or headed in that direction, to be so physically interactive with his own imagination. He was so stupid.

Harry burst into the Potions Master's office without so much as knocking. Snape was leant against the front of his desk, reading a book. He looked up as Harry barged in, and waved the door closed behind him. Harry continued forward until he was stood directly before the taller wizard. Snape set his book aside.

"What in the actual hell?!" Harry demanded, pulling down his collar to show off his hickey.

"Merlin you're thick," Snape said, his hands reaching out to grip Harry's hips. "I grew impatient."

Harry swallowed as he was drawn into the man's personal space. "Whole time?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Snape shrugged. "Subtlety wasn't going to work on the likes of you."

Harry shuddered as frozen fingers touched the skin of his neck, then shivered as that raven head dipped to kiss his bruised throat. "You kissed Malfoy."

"He kissed me, in point of fact. I did not kiss back." Another suckling kiss.

"He was on top of you," Harry argued, gasping, his hands going up to grip broad shoulders.

"I'm fairly certain that supports my argument."

Harry's breath rattled in his throat as fingers began slowly unbuttoning his robe and more kisses were placed the length of his neck. "Did… did you want him?"

Snape pulled back and looked him firmly in the eye. "No. Are you going to be talking the whole time?"

"We can't do anything," Harry argued, frowning. "Student, teacher? Ringing any bells?"

Snape groaned and laid his head on Harry's shoulder. "Seven years you disdain rules, but this you follow?"

"Your job is more important than my libido," Harry pointed out.

Snape straightened. "Then let me be absolutely clear, Mister Potter." He turned them so that Harry was pressed against the front of the man's desk. His fingers resumed unbuttoning Harry's robes. "This is not a Muggle school." He pushed the black material off of Harry's shoulders and began untucking his school shirt. "Your NEWTs determine your end-of-year grades, not I." Harry gasped as cold hands trailed across the burning flesh of his sides beneath his shirt. Snape picked him up and set him on the desk, stepping into the space between his legs, and leaned agonizingly close. "This is not against the rules."

Harry nodded stupidly. "Right," He managed to croak out. He buried his fingers in that raven hair and drew Snape to him. Hard nails scratched at the fabric of his slacks before trailing up his body. Snape loosened Harry's silk Gryffindor tie, pressing forward as Harry pushed back, wrapping his legs loosely around slim hips. The Potions Master breathed heavily against his lips, tossing aside Harry's tie before beginning to work on the buttons of his own robes. Harry couldn't stop kissing him. He had never felt this level of passion in his life. It occurred to him through his fogged mind that this might have been Snape's actual goal. To torture him, seduce him, for a one-off, like Malfoy had tried on the Potions Master the night before. Harry didn't care. He would, he could admit that much, but right now he wanted nothing more than a culmination of the agony he'd put up with the last several months. Snape seemed more than willing to give him that.

"Ugg," Harry gasped as the man's robes joined his on the floor. The Potions Master nodded as if he knew exactly what he meant. Harry pushed him away slightly as reason broke through. "S-Snape… oh God…" He gasped desperately for air.

"Severus," The man corrected, pressing forward again, rejoining their lips. It was Harry's turn to nod into the kiss.

The Gryffindor reached out with the hand that he'd been using to brace himself on the desk and found cool, pale flesh. He raked his fingers over the hard rack of ribs before gliding around to the man's back and pulling him flush against him. He gasped for air as lips and teeth and tongue trailed down his throat.

"Say it," Snape commanded, pressing against him bodily. "Say my name, Harry."

"S-Severus," Harry breathed in a hiccupping gasp. "O-oh dear God, don't stop."

"Please do…" A new voice countered.

Snape broke away, turning and putting a hand behind him defensively. "Lupin!"

Harry looked over his professor's bare shoulder to see his honorary godfather looking on smugly. He blushed.

"Hey, Moony…" He offered shyly.

The werewolf smirked. "Sirius owes me two galleons. It's coming out of your inheritance."

Harry gaped. "You knew this was going to happen?!"

"Since Fifth Year," Lupin agreed readily. "I'll come back later."

With that, the former Defense Professor left the office, closing the door behind him. Severus turned back to Harry.

"Perhaps my office would have been a better practice ward against werewolves," he said exasperatedly, leaning his head against Harry's shoulder.

Harry chuckled. "S'probably for the best," He replied, still breathing heavily.

"Oh, do you think?" Snape returned, nuzzling Harry's throat. "Do you imagine, Mister Potter, that you might now escape me?"

"Not even if I wanted to," Harry breathed, grinning. "However, my untested libido needed the break."

Snape hummed gently, still nuzzling Harry's neck. "Untested."

"Very," Harry answered with a gasp as sharp teeth nipped at his flesh.

"Then allow me to be very, very clear, Mister Potter," Snape said, pulling Harry off of the desk to stand. He drew Harry against him as if he intended to dance and touched their foreheads together. "I will not be taking your virginity."

Harry slumped, disappointment crashing in on him. He tried to pull away, but Snape's grip on his hand and waist stiffened, holding him near.

"Not yet, in any case," The man continued. He placed an incredibly gentle kiss on Harry's lips.

"You don't want me?" Harry asked, still drowning in disappointment.

"In time," Snape answered softly. "However, I have been working towards this for several months. That sort of endeavor requires a certain finesse in its culmination, don't you think?"

Harry chuckled nervously, not entirely sure what the man was saying. "Planning to wine and dine me, first?" He joked.

Snape hummed against his ear before nipping at the sensitive earlobe. "For the rest of my natural life, Mister Potter."

Harry froze. He had to have heard wrong. No way in hell was Severus Snape interested in him like that. A quick one-off in the man's office Harry had been prepared for, but Snape- Severus wanted a relationship with him? What the hell was he supposed to do with that? How was he supposed to believe that?

"I do not jest, Harry," Severus murmured against his lips. He pulled away. "You should return to your friends for now."

Harry nodded, his brow furrowed deeply. He had no idea what to feel in this moment. He bent to pick up his discarded robe as Snape summoned his tie from the distant corner it had landed in. Harry made to move around the older wizard, suddenly sure that Snape was just trying to get rid of him. Of course, he'd say that. Gryffindors were all heart, Harry should be swept off his feet just to hear him say it. Harry was not. He almost preferred the heartbreak he'd felt before coming down here. At least he'd known how to categorize that. This gut-wrenching confusion was torture in comparison. Snape wanted him, but he didn't. What did that even mean?

Snape grabbed him before he had made it more than a few steps.

"You are incredibly naïve, Mister Potter," The Potions Master said, drawing Harry back against his bare chest.

Harry swallowed thickly. "I-I don't-"

Severus chuckled darkly against his ear. "I meant what I said, Harry. You will not easily escape me, now that I have you."

"But why me?" Harry scoffed disbelievingly. That was the true source of his confusion.

That dark chuckle rumbled against his ear again. "So very many reasons, Mister Potter. I shall see you this afternoon. If you are amenable, we shall discuss this more then."

Harry turned in the man's arms to frown up at him in confusion, wrapping his own arms around a sturdy neck. "You really intend to keep me?" He wondered.

Severus smirked. "With every fiber of my being, Mister Potter. You should return to the Great Hall, you're missed. And your ward on my classroom worked perfectly, before we were interrupted here."

Harry frowned further at this. Then, suddenly, Snape was gone in a blink, like he'd done a dozen times before. Harry started, still poised as he'd been in the man's arms. That hadn't been apparition. Harry didn't know what it was, but… He frowned as the book Severus had placed on his desk when Harry came in flipped suddenly closed with a loud bang. Cautiously, Harry inched towards the desk and book until he could see the cover. After a moment's shock, a small smile spread across his lips and eyes.

"Sneaky bastard," He murmured fondly. He ran his finger over the embossed title of the text before leaving the office, repairing his tie as he went.

"Secrets of the Astral Plane"

~Fini~


End file.
